The Apple Spy by Terry Deary Page A

grey raincoats and brown felt hats and fine shoes. She wore a heavy tweed skirt and thick woollen socks. The man wore a dark blue suit.
    Their pale, hard eyes scanned the platform and fastened on Mr Donald the station-master. The woman took a step towards him. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, and her voice was odd. Foreign.
    Mr Donald gripped the lapels of his uniform and said, ‘Yes, madam?’
    â€˜Tell me, porter, what is the name of this station?’
    Mr Donald was a short man but he stretched as tall as he could and said, ‘I am not a porter, madam. I am the station-
master
. And the names of all stations have been removed. Then if a German spy arrives…’ he said very slowly, ‘they will not know where they are.’

    The man stepped forward. He had an accent just like the woman. ‘What a wonderful idea. Those German spies must be defeated. No?’
    â€˜No…I mean, yes,’ station-master Donald said.
    â€˜We came here to Forres for a walking holiday,’ the man said. ‘Now we take the train to London.’
    â€˜This is not Forres,’ Mr Donald said. ‘This is – ’
    â€˜Lossiemouth,’ I said quickly. I met the eyes of Mr Donald and those eyes seemed to say, ‘Thank you.’ He had almost given us away.
    â€˜We got a little lost,’ the woman said.
    But Forres was 25 miles away. Jamie spoke from the side of his mouth. ‘They didn’t walk here. A German submarine or seaplane dropped them off. They were rowed ashore in a boat.’
    â€˜You read that stuff in
The Wizard
comic,’ I hissed. ‘You think Miss McLennan is a Russian spy and you’re the Wolf of Kabul.’
    He looked worried. ‘This is serious, sis.’
    â€˜You can’t accuse people of being spies without any proof,’ I said.
    â€˜But I do have proof,’ he murmured. ‘Look at the bottom of the man’s trouser legs.’

    Â 
    Chapter 4
    Butcher and baker
    â€˜They’re wet,’ I said quietly.
    â€˜They are…and it’s a dry day,’ he muttered. ‘Look just below the knees where the water has started to dry.’
    â€˜There’s a ring of white,’ I said and started to understand. Jamie may be a clever detective but I’m not stupid. ‘Wet with salt water…sea water.’
    Jamie gave a small smile. ‘They’ve stepped out of the sea. The woman’s shoes are covered in salt too. A submarine or a seaplane put them in a rowing boat. They rowed to the beach but had to jump into the water and walk the last few yards when the boat hit the bottom.’
    â€˜But they weren’t sure where they’d landed so they had to ask,’ I said. ‘Spies.’ I leaned closer to my brother and whispered, ‘What are we going to do?’
    â€˜Run and get the Home Guard and the police,’ he said.
    I turned and raced through the entrance to the station. I sped along Station Road and turned into the High Street. As I reached the little police box I saw Constable Grieve coming out. I snatched at his sleeve and babbled my story. ‘…and the express leaves at ten.’
    If Constable Grieve had ever done any running it had been thirty years ago. But now he shuffled into a trot like a rhino and still found enough breath to blow his whistle. ‘Home Guard…bring your rifles…get to the station…German spies…’

    Mr McKenzie the grocer said, ‘I’ll just get my uniform on.’
    â€˜No time,’ I said. ‘They’ll be on the express train at ten. Just bring your rifle.’
    He vanished into the shop and came out a moment later, running up Station Road in his white apron. He was joined by Mr Mackay the butcher in his navy apron with white stripes and crimson blood, and Mr Bell the Baker, who always sounded like a man on a
Happy Families
card to me.
    We could see the express steaming along the coast line. The men struggled